


Chased

by darkangel0410



Series: Merry Gentry 'verse [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Merry Gentry - Laurell K Hamilton
Genre: Crossover/Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkangel0410/pseuds/darkangel0410
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After five years, Pete shows up at Patrick's apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chased

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, this is not my fault -it's candy_belle's fault because she is a dirty enabler and told me I needed to finish writing this. I wrote it in all of three hours, on a pot and a half of coffee and no sleep. Please be gentle. I have no idea what put this into my head, but it refused to leave it until I wrote it out. I don't own anything in here that you might recognize; the people belong to themselves, the background info is from Laurel K Hamilton's Merry Gentry series -at least most of it is.

As Patrick rode the elevator to his floor, he dropped the glamour that made him seem more human. It wasn't anything major, just something that made him look older than he was; it dug in laugh lines and crow's feet where there weren't any. It also made his hair a duller red and his skin pale instead of the moonlight color it naturally was, kept his eyes a pleasant blue instead of the three shades that he saw in his mirror at home.

 

The glamour felt like a second skin to him most days; it was something he used everyday, whenever he was somewhere where anyone else might see him.

 

Today, though, it had done nothing but annoy him from the time he left in the morning; it had felt itchy, like his skin had something crawling underneath it. That coupled with the fact that the people who had come to the detective agency had seemed determined to make him lose his mind and kill someone before the end of the day.

 

All in all, he was glad to be home -until he saw who was standing outside his door.

 

Peadair -“For fuck's sake, call me 'Pete', this isn't Ireland and it isn't the 800's any more.” -was leaning against the wall next to his door, his customary smirk twisting his lips as he watched Patrick walk toward him.

 

He was dressed fairly normal for a Fae as old as he was; tight, black jeans (they were probably girl jeans if Pete was still shopping at the same place he had been five years ago), a black and purple striped shirt (also probably from the girl's department) that barely came down to his belt buckle and brown boots. His tattoos were very clearly on display and even though he had eyeliner on, his eyes were only a warm brown, not the vibrant colors he remembered from before.

 

Most Fae Pete's age clung to the old ways, but Pete had modernized a good chunk of his life; he had always insisted that there wasn't any use living in the past, since it was never going to happen again.

 

“What are you doing here?” Patrick demanded, his voice angry.

 

“The wards around your apartment are good,” Pete said blandly. “I couldn't get past them.”

 

“My wards have always been good, you know that. It's the only thing that's sidhe about me,” Patrick said and he fought to keep the bitterness out of his words.

 

“I've never thought that,” Pete told him softly and looked him in the eyes for the first time. “Or said it, either.”

 

“I know,” Patrick sighed and because they had been friends of a sort before he had left home, he softened his next words. “What do you want, Pete? I doubt you left Chicago to come here and compliment my ward skills.”

 

“No, I didn't,” Pete agreed after a second and Patrick was taken aback at the edge of weariness that was in his voice before it smoothed flat again. “Can I come in for a second?”

 

Patrick hesitated, eying Pete with wariness. They may have been friends at one point, but that didn't mean he understood or trusted Pete's motives.

 

“I'm not going to hurt you,” Pete said, amused.

 

“Swear it?” Patrick asked, his voice quiet. “Your word you mean me no harm?”

 

“On my honour, I swear to thee that I shall not cause thee any physical harm on purpose while I am lodging with thee,” Pete answered, his voice solemn as he reverted back to the more formal speech.

 

Patrick looked at him for another few minutes, but he already knew he was going to let Pete inside. Quite beyond the fact that Fae couldn't lie, Patrick knew Pete's own personal honor would never let him go back on his word.

 

If Patrick was honest with himself, he had wanted to let Pete in his apartment since the first moment he had realized who he was.

 

“Come in,” Patrick finally said; he mentally redid the wards to include Pete while he was inside.

 

Pete looked around the living room as he walked in; Patrick saw his eyes go to every window and search them, clearly looking for any weakness.

 

Pete nodded approvingly when he saw the couch was pushed against the wall, the windows of the loft in front of it and easily watched.

 

“You _do_ remember some of your training,” Pete mused as he sprawled on the couch; he seemed at ease, but Patrick could see the way his legs were arranged, his feet positioned so he could get up quickly if necessary.

 

“No shit -you think I use glamour everyday just for the fun of it?” Patrick scoffed and rolled his eyes as he sat down on the other end of the sofa.

 

Pete chuckled, the sound making something twinge in Patrick's chest and for a second, Patrick felt as if they were still in Chicago and the past five years had never happened. But out of the corner of his eye, the sun was still shining and it was never this bright in Chicago in December.

 

Pete shifted so he could look at Patrick; his eyes were back to their normal color, nutmeg brown, yellow and a brown that was almost the same color as coffee with cream mixed in.

 

“I missed you, 'Trick,” Pete said, his voice warm and fond. “Home just hasn't been the same since you left.”

 

“Right, missed me so much it took you five years to come visit,” Patrick said and then immediately closed his eyes and winced internally.

 

He knew Pete wasn't making this up, but the Fae could twist the truth so much that a lie would be less cruel and there was no way he should have let Pete see how his words affected him.

 

“You weren't of age when you left,” Pete told him, as if that explained everything.

 

“Big fucken deal, Pete,” Patrick spit out and stood up; all of sudden he was inexplicably furious. He fisted his hands at his side so he wouldn't start hitting the sidhe in front of him.

 

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything? I know you could have found me before now if you wanted to; you're the best tracker in either court. Since you didn't, I have to ask myself why you suddenly care about me.

 

“Is Maja clearing house? Is she tidying up her path to the throne? You can go back there and tell her I don't fucken want it. In fact, you can tell her that I have no intention of going any where near Chicago for the rest of my life.”

 

He was shouting by the end of it, his emotions getting the best of him. He barely noticed when his skin started glowing, the depth of his anger lighting the room up as if it were morning instead of late afternoon.

 

Pete's skin started glowing in response to Patrick's, the warm brown of his tan skin mingling with the almost perfect whiteness of Patrick's. But when he spoke, his voice was steady.

 

“No, Maja didn't send me,” Pete answered, slowly straightened until he was sitting. “She wanted me to find you but I told her that if I came after you it would be for me, under my terms, not on an errand for her.

 

“She forgets herself,” Pete went on and there was no mistaking the dislike layering his voice. “The Queen still lives and Maja has no authority over me.”

 

“What are you doing here, Pete?” Patrick, repeating his question from earlier. His mouth was dry all of a sudden and his heart was starting to pound.

 

Pete kept his eyes on Patrick's as he pressed the tattoo on his left arm, making his sword appear out of a cloud of magic into his hand. In one graceful movement, he slid to his knees, bent his head and offered Patrick his sword hilt first.

 

“I lay my sword at your feet; I swear my life and fealty to you and only you,” Pete intoned. “From here until the day I no longer exist, my honour and my life are tied to yours. As you command, so shall I do.”

 

Patrick gaped at Pete, his mind unable to comprehend what he was seeing. There was no way that this was really happening.

 

“Pete, don't -you can't,” Patrick tried to say, swallowing loudly. “Why? You could of -anyone else, _anyone_. Why me?”

 

“Because, Padraic, I have loved you since you were fifteen,” Pete answered, his head still bent, his sword arm steady. “Since you were fifteen and first discovering your powers; I had no right to you, especially when you were that young. So I contented myself to being just your friend, but there was nothing that could appease the hunger for you that kept building inside me.

 

“When you left, I wanted to follow, but I knew if I did, I would want to lay everything that I am at your feet and by our laws, you must be twenty five before I could do that.”

 

“Don't call me that,” Patrick said weakly, falling back on the old joke as his mind hurried to try and adjust itself to the new reality that was kneeling at his feet. “My name's Patrick -how many times do I have to tell you that?”

 

Pete didn't say anything, just let the silence grow even thicker. Patrick couldn't believe what he was seeing; it was something that he had been trying to denying he wanted since he was fourteen and had found himself lusting after the other sidhe.

 

Lust was one thing, what Pete was offering completely different. Could Patrick accept that kind of responsibility? Did he _want_ that kind of responsibility? He knew without asking that it was all or nothing, there was no separating things for Pete when it came to this.

 

Patrick took a deep breath and reached over to lay his hand over the hilt of Pete's sword.

 

“I accept,” Patrick said and although nerves were making his stomach dance, he was absolutely sure of what he wanted. He lifted the sword and lay the flat of the blade against Pete's neck.

 

“I will guard your life and hounor as I do my own.”

 

Pete finally looked up at him, his eyes vibrant against the glow of his skin. Patrick backed up a step and tried to smile.

 

“Come on, dude, get up, you don't need to be kneeling at my feet like that all night,” Patrick told him.

 

Pete kept his eyes steady on Patrick's face, he held his hand out and when Patrick handed it to him, he muttered something Gaelic and it disappeared again.

 

“You know I want everything,” Pete said, his voice quiet and intense. He kept moving closer to Patrick who kept backing up until he hit a wall. “If you don't want that everything to include your body, tell me now.”

 

“Stop you? I've been waiting for this for fucken years, asshole. Get over here,” Patrick reached out and tugged Pete until his mouth was tasting Pete's.

 

Patrick thought he heard Pete let out a satisfied growl before he lost track of everything.

 


End file.
